


Before the Dawn

by originally



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angry Sex, Dubious Consent, F/F, Infidelity, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:19:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2140350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/originally/pseuds/originally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashara begins to notice that her brother and the Princess are paying more attention to each other than is entirely proper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ars_belli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ars_belli/gifts).



The King was holding a great feast to celebrate Prince Viserys’ nameday with singers and mummers and all manner of pageantry, but Ashara Dayne was weary of it already. She was seated above the salt with a gaggle of other ladies-in-waiting and a handful of sons of minor houses, a position from which she had a good view of the dais should Princess Elia have need of her. They had been sent a roasted capon and a salad of spinach and turnip greens, and Denys Arryn was holding forth with increasing exuberance on the, apparently numerous and varied, merits of oyster stuffing. Ashara cared little and less about such things, but she fixed a polite and hopefully not overly encouraging smile on her face as she let her attention wander. 

In front of the dais, a singer with a woodharp was performing a rather mournful rendition of what, when she listened closely, turned out to be _Lucamore the Lusty_. He had a handsome voice, high and clear, but the sadness in it made her shiver. _What had befallen him, for him to turn even the most ribald of songs into a lament?_ Shaking her head to rid herself of the melancholy that threatened to settle upon her, she turned away from the singer to survey the room at large.

The throne room of the Red Keep would never be the most festive of feasting halls. They had been in King’s Landing for half a year now, but Ashara still shuddered when she caught a glimpse of the dragon skulls. Beneath a mid-sized, age-yellowed skull stood her brother Arthur guarding the doors leading out of the hall. The Sword of the Morning he was called, for the weapon currently sheathed at his back – the one that they said was made from a fallen star. A familiar sense of pride crept over her as she gazed at him. In his gleaming white scale armour and snowy silk cloak he could have been star-forged himself, a true knight out of the songs. She tried but could not catch his eye; his attention was focused on the dais.

Following his gaze, she saw that the Princess was in the midst of an animated discussion with the High Septon, gesturing expressively with her hands to emphasize her words. Ashara smiled to see it, feeling fond. The constant motion of Elia’s long, slender hands and the spark in her dark eyes could be used to gauge how strongly she felt about a given topic. Along from Elia sat Prince Rhaegar. He was speaking quietly with Lord Connington, their heads bent close together. They made a striking pair: Rhaegar’s flowing, silver-gold hair against Connington’s deep red. Ashara frowned to herself as she glanced back at Elia. It seemed clear to her that, whilst the Prince and Princess liked each other well enough, theirs was not a love match. Elia rarely favoured Prince Rhaegar with the kind of enthused discourse she was engaging in now, and his night-time visits to her chambers were perfunctory: frequent enough to satisfy the compulsion to produce an heir but never lasting longer than absolutely necessary. _The kitchen girls sometimes murmur of Lord Connington’s tastes_ , she recalled as she regarded the man. There was little enough truth in rumours, however, and she had never heard such things about Rhaegar himself.

A glance back at Arthur told her that his attention was still on Princess Elia. Feeling troubled but unable to articulate why, Ashara steeled herself and turned back to Denys Arryn and his opinions.

**

Now that she had become aware of it, in the days and weeks following the nameday feast Ashara could not help but notice other incidences of her brother paying special attention to Princess Elia. He often let his eyes linger upon her at table, favoured her with brilliant smiles when she spoke to him, and contrived to be assigned duties where he would be near her. Before, Ashara had assumed that it was Prince Rhaegar at the root of Arthur’s duties, as the two of them had become friends since the Dornish party had arrived in King’s Landing, but now she knew otherwise. The worst of it was that the Princess appeared to return the attention: she had always been wont to take strolls in the grounds of the Red Keep, but now Ashara had come to realise that they often coincided with times when members of the Kingsguard were training in the practice yard.

Not that she begrudged either of them the attraction. Indeed, she was fully aware of what they saw in each other: Arthur was handsome and good, the picture of a perfect knight, and Elia had a soft, radiant beauty that anyone would be captivated by. No, she understood - but she was worried about the consequences if either of them were to act on their impulses. Ashara and Arthur had spent their formative years in the Water Gardens, running naked in the pools with Princess Elia and Prince Oberyn. Ashara had been Elia’s confidant, and Arthur had always been there with them, her older brother and protector. Now, she realised, it was her turn to protect him. It would be devastating for Arthur to act upon his feelings for Elia. Not only would he break his Kingsguard vows, an indiscretion which in and of itself might be forgiven, but he would break them with the wife of the heir to the throne, the future mother of kings. That, he would lose his head for — and perhaps the Princess would too. The thought of Elia's flowing dark hair spread out on a headsman's block turned Ashara's stomach. 

**

They were in Elia’s tower room playing cyvasse, the way they often did in the evening. Elia was a masterful strategist, having learned from her brothers growing up. She chattered about inconsequential things whilst they played, mentioning Arthur’s name no fewer than five times. Eventually, Ashara could take it no longer.

“Elia… are you in love with my brother?” she blurted.

“What?” Elia said, looking nonplussed. 

Ashara felt uneasy, but plowed on regardless. “It’s just… I’ve noticed the way you look at him.” 

Elia laughed, but it sounded weak and forced. “Of course I’m not! He’s like a brother to me, as you are a sister.”

“But –"

“Ashara.” Elia’s voice was a warning now. She stood, pacing to the window. “I don’t wish to speak of this.”

Ashara took a steadying breath. She had begun this, and now she must end it.

“Elia, listen to me,” she said, rising as well. “You need to be careful. I’m only saying this because I care about you and I don’t want to see you both executed for treason!” 

“How dare you say such things to me?” Elia spat, her eyes flashing dangerously. “I am a Princess of Dorne! Who do you think you are?”

Ashara flinched. Elia had never used her rank against her that way, even though it was always there, an elephant in the room. For half a heartbeat they were frozen, gazing at one another, both breathing heavily as if they’d run a league. Something inside Ashara snapped, then, like a dam breaking, and she took a step forward.

“What are you -“ Elia had time to say, her words swallowed up by a gasp as Ashara pressed her against the wall, crowding into her space and mouthing at her throat. She pushed her thigh between Elia’s legs, using the few inches of height she had over Elia to her advantage.

“Ashara,” the Princess half-sobbed, bucking her hips helplessly, “we shouldn’t be doing this. Rhaegar –"

“Rhaegar won’t notice,” Ashara murmured against her skin. “He pays little enough attention to you.” _But my brother does_ , she added to herself, feeling a thrill of jealousy. She pressed her teeth into the delicate skin of Elia’s neck, just hard enough to elicit a moan from the Princess. 

Ashara moved her hands from Elia’s shoulders, allowing the weight of her body to keep the Princess pinned. She ran her fingers down over the smooth planes of Elia’s sides, the curve of her hips, back up to trace the outline of her breasts under her shift dress. She dared a glance upwards to Elia’s face, and found that she was watching her with dark, heavy-lidded eyes. Elia opened her mouth to speak, and Ashara kissed her. This was not a chaste kiss, or one of the awkward, exploratory kind she had shared with stable boys and serving girls over the years. Ashara took the kiss from Elia, plundered her mouth with teeth and tongue as the Princess submitted, going limp under Ashara’s weight. She put all of her anger into the kiss, all of her fears for her brother’s honour, all of her jealousy. 

She slipped her hand inside Elia’s dress, stroked one of her nipples to hardness and tweaked it roughly, causing Elia to squirm and mewl into her mouth. _Does Rhaegar do this?_ she wondered. _Does he give you pleasure beyond the necessary?_

“Please –" Elia gasped, as Ashara broke the kiss and drew back to look at her.

“Please what?” she asked, and then added, bitterness evident in her voice, “ _Your Highness_.”

“Please,” Elia said again, sounding desperate, and Ashara wasn’t sure if she knew herself what she was asking for. 

Although Ashara had helped the Princess to dress and undress countless times before, this was the first time she truly allowed herself to look at Elia whilst she did it, to admire her flawless expanse of brown skin, admire the way her beautiful dark hair fell in waves down over her small breasts, admire her flat stomach and slim hips and the coarse tangle of hair between her legs. She threw aside the Princess’ shift carelessly, but left her own clothes in place. She bent her head to Elia’s breast, lathing her tongue soothingly over the nipple she had treated so roughly earlier. She licked and sucked there until Elia moaned and arched her back, and then she let her hand trail down over Elia’s stomach to the curls between her legs. She was dripping wet and the slightest brush of Ashara’s fingers made her gasp and writhe.

Ashara sank to her knees in front of Elia and paused there. She looked up at the Princess, spread out naked and beautiful above her. Her skin was flushed and her head was thrown back against the wall, her lips parted and bruised red from Ashara’s kisses. She paused long enough that Elia tilted her head to look down at her. Their eyes met, and that was all she needed. Ashara spread Elia’s cunt wide, stroking gently along the lips with her fingers. Elia’s skin was dusky pink here, glistening wet and laid out like a feast in front of Ashara. She wondered whether Rhaegar ever took the time to just look, and then she thought about Arthur and that spurred her into action. 

She feathered light kisses along Elia’s cunt lips, teasingly, before pressing her lips to the nub of flesh she knew would bring the Princess into ecstasy. Elia’s taste was heady, strong and slightly sour, like good Dornish wine. Ashara flicked her tongue and Elia keened and bucked, forcing Ashara to press her arm against the Princess’ hip to hold her in place. She slid one finger inside and then another as she worked her mouth against Elia. Elia’s thighs were taut and beginning to shake. Ashara pressed her harder into the wall and crooked her fingers in a way that made Elia wail and convulse, her cunt spasming around Ashara’s hand. Ashara continued to mouth at her through her climax, revelling in the feeling that she had done this, had given the Princess this, until –

“Arthur,” Elia sighed, and Ashara let go of her abruptly, rearing backwards as if the word had burned her. Elia had her eyes closed and an expression of bliss on her face, seemingly unaware that she had said anything untoward. Ashara closed her eyes, steeled herself, and fixed a smile in place. She gathered up the Princess’ clothing, the way she did each evening. 

“Here, Your Highness,” she said tonelessly. Outside the window, the stars were rising.


End file.
